For most of my life, I prayed for strength; now I find myself praying for gentleness. I used to believe that if I just tried harder, life would finally work — and maybe I’d finally be thinner. But sooner or later, effort becomes its own kind of exhaustion.
I have come to learn that our bodies are designed to help us survive challenge, not to live in constant pursuit of it. When we push hard for long periods, our stress hormone cortisol stays elevated. At first it fuels motivation and alertness, but over time it begins to work against us. High cortisol can disrupt other hormones such as insulin, thyroid, and estrogen. It tells the body to store fat and hold on to energy “just in case.”
For those of us living with autoimmune conditions, this constant stress signal can confuse the immune system, intensifying inflammation and fatigue. I have come to see that this is not just theory. It is the very pattern I find myself caught in, and it only adds to the stress I am trying to escape.
What begins as determination can quietly become depletion. The harder we try to control, the more our bodies interpret life as unsafe. Muscles tighten. Sleep fragments. Digestion slows. The healing systems start to switch off. It helps to remember that this is not a moral failure; it is simply biology asking for safety.
When we begin to interrupt that loop by resting, breathing, and nourishing ourselves kindly, something sacred happens. Cortisol steadies. Hormones rebalance. The immune system begins to trust again. Compassion becomes chemistry. Gentleness becomes medicine.
I am learning that growth doesn’t always come from pushing harder. It’s not easy, especially when you’ve spent a lifetime equating effort with worth. Yet the work now is asking me to be quieter; to listen more deeply to the wisdom of the body, the whispers of the Spirit, and the longing for peace and a non-hustling life.
I have often called out to God when I am at the end of my rope. Lately I am discovering that He meets me within these limits, not just at the end of them. He is not the One who demands more, but the One who abides when we can’t do more.
So the next time we catch ourselves looping, planning, pushing, or punishing ourselves for not changing fast enough, let’s pause instead.
Take a breath.
Ask softly, “What might kindness look like here?”
What if the truest transformation doesn’t happen through force but through gentleness? And the work is the steady turning from self-criticism to self-companionship; from striving to trust.
If we traded willpower for wonder, what might we change?
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Grace begins where striving ends.
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